


Animus

by Basilthehamster



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Non-Consent, Homophobic Language, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basilthehamster/pseuds/Basilthehamster
Summary: an·i·mus/ˈanəməs/noun: animus1. hostility or ill feeling.2. motivation to do something.Boys will be boys, I guess.Rating and CNC warning apply only to the last paragraph, so if that bothers you, you can still read 3/4 of it.
Relationships: Josto Fadda/Rabbi Milligan
Kudos: 6





	Animus

**Author's Note:**

> While editing my other J/R fic I thought Rabbi seemed like too much of a sad-sack, so I wrote some extra scenes to give him some edge. Removed after I decided to go in a different direction, but I think they can stand on their own. In this version, their relationship is far more…pugnacious. (I just learned that word and I’m going to use it a lot!)

It’s 3 weeks after the Milligan Massacre. The Italians are fixing the place up: filling in bullet holes, moving in furniture, new drapes - Rabbi can’t tell if it’s going to be classier or tackier or just something else all together, but he’s glad it’s changing because every time he steps inside is like reliving a nightmare. He didn’t really know what to expect after… _everything_ went down, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He’s trying to scrub blood stains off the bar. He’s got a brush and soapy water, working up a pinkish-brownish lather, but it seems to just be spreading around making it worse. A swarthy man observes his efforts and comments “that’s never coming out. Will have to sand and re-stain the whole thing.” Rabbi agrees, but that’s not what he’s been instructed to do right now, so he keeps trying. It’s hard to focus on the work, though, when 20 feet away the Boss’ son is holding court at a pool table, talking shit about the Milligans. Going on and on about how disgusting and primitive they were - their food sucks, they’re dirty, crude, ugly…

He met Josto a dozen times over the years, though they have hardly ever spoken. The first time was on that fateful day they switched places. Josto made a little mocking kissy face at him and it was meant to be intimidating, but had the opposite effect. It was so juvenile and overconfident, all he could think was “Oh, you poor little lamb. You spoilt prince, you. You have no idea what you are in for.” When he saw the smug little puppy standing next to Owney Milligan he felt a surge of protectiveness, wanted to stand between them and shelter him from the blows that were sure to come. Of course, he couldn’t. The few times they met in the park while the fathers talked treaties, they sat on a bench or swing and just stared uncomfortably at each other, neither knowing what they could possibly say. Until one day, upon exiting the car, Fadda Sr put his arm around Rabbi’s shoulder. When Josto saw that, his eyes narrowed and he glared daggers at the recipient of his father’s affection. After that, they still didn’t talk, but his body language oozed petty jealousy and resentment. Rabbi hoped that after working together to overthrow his own family this would pass and they would be like brothers, but…

Now in the club, speaking very loudly and pointedly so that everyone hears, because the whole point is to humiliate him, he gets to Rabbi himself:

“I don’t know why my father didn’t just kill the Mick after. He’s not useful anymore and we can’t trust him. Someone who would turn on his own family will never be loyal to ours. And he’s probably a filthy buggerer like his dad. Incest is a way of life for those degenerates…”

Rabbi’s face burns and he scrubs harder, like he could scour his way to China just to get out of the room. Suddenly a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

“You going to let him talk about you like that?” The Donatello asks in his thick Italian accent.

“Signore? He’s your son, what am I allowed to do?”

“You may defend your reputation. Reputation is all we have.” He gives Rabbi’s shoulder a squeeze. Rabbi throws the scrub brush down and squares his shoulders; permission is all he needed. He marches over to Josto, who turns around. Without hesitation he winds up and punches him right in the face. A few of the men yell “fight!” Josto is knocked backwards and dazed for a second, then charges at him, using his shorter stature to his advantage. He connects with Rabbi’s chest and they fall to the ground, scrabbling and tearing at each other. The rest of the crew gathers around to watch the brawl, cheering. Some even makes bets. Rabbi lays on a few good punches to his kidneys and gut, but he counters with a kick to the balls, causing Rabbi to retract in pain. Josto gets in another shot to the face, giving him a bloody nose, but Rabbi rallies and manages to roll them over and gets on top. He grabs his opponent’s hair and smashes his head on the ground. That’s when the Capo steps in.

“Basta! Enough!” Several of his men pull the boys apart. They stand panting and bleeding.

“Shake hands.” He orders. Rabbi sticks his bruised hand out, but Josto just glares. “That’s an order, boy. Do it” he says in Italian. Josto reluctantly obeys and they shake, not making eye contact.

Donatello nods to his men and a few of his senior crime dudes follow him to the office to do business, and the rest of the group breaks up to go back to their respective duties. Josto tells one of the men to take him home and they leave. Rabbi sits at the bar still thrumming with adrenalin, feeling, albeit briefly, pleased with himself. What the repercussions will be are yet to be seen, but damn, that felt good.

——————————————————————————

Years later.

Josto has been a real asshole the past few days. Moreso than usual. He’s been ordering Rabbi around like a servant, talking down to him, and insulting him in front of both family and “family”. At the club, Josto commands Rabbi bring drinks to the card table, and when he does declares he got the order wrong, even though he was not specific in what he wanted in the first place. He calls him a retard and sends him to do it again. The other men have noticed how harsh he’s being and several assure Rabbi that their drinks are fine, he can sit down and join them.

“No, he can’t!” Josto glares. “Don’t go easy on him just because you feel bad for him, you’re not doing him any favors. He has to get it right.”

Rabbi knows exactly what he’s doing and why he’s doing it. Earlier in the week they were moving a shipment of product across state lines. Josto was tasked with ensuring the trucks were gassed up and in working order - a job he thought was beneath him. So of course, he didn’t bother doing it right. The brigade ended up on the side of the road, missed their meeting point, and long story short, fucked up the whole deal. Later, when Ebal related the results to the Capo, he glossed over why the trucks weren’t checked ahead of time. Donatello cut him off to say “That was the boy’s job. You’re not doing him any favors by making excuses for him!” If that wasn’t bad enough, he also went out of his way to praise Rabbi for keeping a cool head under pressure. That was too much for Josto’s fragile ego, he had to reestablish himself as superior, in any way he could.

Rabbi sets Josto’s fresh Old Fashioned in front of him. “I hope it’s to your majesty’s liking” he simpers sarcastically, eliciting a snicker from the other men playing cards.

“You think you’re funny, huh Irish? Know what I think of you?” He hocks a loogie in the drink. Rabbi is not impressed.

“Know what I think of _you_?” He picks up the spit cocktail and chugs it down. A few of the men laugh, some groan in disgust. He slams the glass down in front of his tormenter, leans in so his lips are practically brushing his ear and only he can hear, and in his lowest, graveliest voice purrs:

“You know I love it when you tell me what to do. _Boss_.” He saunters back to the bar and grabs his coat to leave. Back at the table, Josto’s face has never looked more red or furious. Rabbi smirks as he leaves, knowing Josto wants to follow but isn’t able to - he’ll have to sit there until his erection subsides.

He also knows the consequences for this small act of rebellion. In fact, he’s looking forward to it: Josto will come to his room later while he’s sleeping, sit on his chest so he can’t move and barely breathe, and jerk off onto his face. He’ll probably rub the cum into his face, smush it into his mouth while he struggles, and call him a filthy jizzrag or a cum whore or any of the Italian words for such… He knows Josto will cry after and say “I don’t know what’s wrong with me”, then for a few days be overly solicitous. But that’s the way it goes with them. In a constant push-pull to send the other over the edge. If they were on more equal footing, Rabbi could provoke him further and retaliate in kind. As it is, he just has to accept that his strikes will always be smaller, more controlled, and subtle, since his rival has all the power. But somehow that makes the little victories even sweeter. Someday they’re going to get too old for this… with any luck, that is.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing except my poor writing skills.
> 
> The spit thing was a real incident I witnessed in high school! I still remember it all these years later cuz… *wide eye emoji*  
> A bunch of boys in the cafeteria were messing around, joshing on each other and one said “know what I think of that?” and spit in another boy’s drink. Other boy said “know what I think of *that*?” And gulped it down. 16 year old me is like “did I just witness porn?!”


End file.
